


A Lot of Oysters (And No Pearls)

by doctor__idiot



Category: Justified
Genre: 4x04 "This Bird Has Flown", Episode Related, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan could practically see Boyd’s face through his cell phone. He figured it was appropriate as he might have just admitted that he was in need of a nurse. "I got into a fight. And I kind of got shot.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot of Oysters (And No Pearls)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be longer but I didn't end up liking it and I deleted most of it. I didn't want this to have a nicely wrapped-up ending after all, because there's no such thing with this show. Also, I basically marathoned 6 seasons in 2 weeks so I'm a bit wonky on the timeline but I don't think it will affect this piece.
> 
> Disclaimer: Only the idea is mine.
> 
> Title is taken from "A Long December" by Counting Crows.

“The hell’d you do?”

Raylan could practically see Boyd’s face through his cell phone. He figured it was appropriate as he might have just admitted that he was in need of a nurse.

“I got into a fight. And I kind of got shot.”

Boyd growled, “Again?” but Raylan couldn’t be sure whether he was mad at Raylan or at the son of a bitch who shot Raylan.

“Occupational hazard, you know how it is. It wasn’t a real bullet anyway. Still hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Raylan,” Boyd dragged the word out before he sighed, “Gimme ten minutes.”

Raylan let his hand drop to the side, his phone clattered to the floor.

He was nearly asleep by the time there was a knock at the door. It was nothing but a courtesy since the door was unlocked and Raylan was only expecting one person.

Courtesy wasn’t Boyd’s strong suit but they had had their fair share of incidents with guns in each other’s faces because they tended to waltz into houses like they owned them.

Boyd was really the only one who had never seemed out of place in Raylan’s perfunctory living quarters and he didn’t like to think about what that said about either of them.

Raylan’s eyes were closed but he felt the bed dip next to him and the scent was familiar; sweat and earth and the same soap for years.  
The fact that he strongly associated it with Harlem had somehow never managed to make it any less addictive.

Boyd nudged his shoulder. “Can you sit up?”

Raylan did, setting his jaw against his stiff joints and the pull of ripped tissue and bruised bone. He leaned his head back against the headboard and smiled. “You came.”

“You take somethin’ already? You called me, dumbass.”

“Don’t mean you would.”

“Yes, it does.” 

Boyd said the words as if they tasted bad but the underlying conviction made Raylan open his eyes. Blinking hurt and he could feel a swelling starting below his right eyebrow.

Boyd held out his palm, ordered, “Hold my hand.”

Raylan found himself complying before he could think to ask why. His fingers curled around Boyd’s and it hurt but he still gripped tight.

Boyd squeezed gently before pulling his hand back. “Just checkin’ that you didn’t break anything. Other hand.”

“I don’t hit with that one.” Raylan grinned but the joke was on him because he still reached out.

Boyd’s hand was strong and callused in his own and if his grip was a little shaky Raylan could blame it on pain and left-over adrenaline.

When he started to unbutton Raylan’s shirt Boyd moved slowly, as if he was worried of startling him. Raylan followed every twitch in his face. Focused eyes and precise cataloging, but Boyd was completely fixed on the task before him, hands steady and efficient.

They continued to be methodical when they pushed Raylan’s shirt to the side and traced the lines of his chest and abdomen, checking for broken ribs and contusions. 

Raylan still couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath. He hoped Boyd would mistake it for pain, but no such luck.

“You asked me here to feel you up, remember?” he said with his trademarked shark-smile and Raylan refrained from replying. Tried not to squirm under the examination.

When Boyd’s fingers found the spot where the bean bag bullet had hit, his hiss was truly born of pain this time. His whole stomach would surely be black and blue for at least a week. 

He just hoped nothing internal had been damaged because he would really _hate_ to have to go to a hospital after all.

Boyd’s eyebrows knit together. “Who shot you?”

“Lindsey.” Raylan saw no reason to make up a story. He was too damn tired to.

“Your girlfriend? Ain’t that something.”

Raylan looked up. “She’s not my...” Then he saw Boyd’s grin and realized he had played right into his hands. “Anyway.”

“Well,” Boyd dragged the word out, “if she’s not your girlfriend, what is she?”

Raylan was not having this conversation. He could tell Boyd was messing with him, just because he could and Raylan was no match for him in his current condition.  
He simply said, “Right now, she’s a thief and a fugitive, so she ain’t anything to me.”

“Raylan, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Raylan wasn’t entirely positive Boyd was aware of what he was implying, but then again, he probably was. In his life, he had never met anyone who used words more purposefully than Boyd Crowder.

When Boyd got up to get ice and antiseptic, Raylan muttered to himself, “I sure do.”


End file.
